


Accompaniment

by jillyfae



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, POV Minor Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:11:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2826239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because any good butler knows everything that happens in his house.</p>
<p>An outside POV on Phryne and Jack's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accompaniment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eli/gifts).



The Inspector never danced.

Not like Miss Fisher danced.

No one danced like Miss Fisher.

No one did much of anything like Miss Fisher.

She had such a lovely home.

Mrs. Butler would have been delighted by the music in this house.

Less delighted by the laundry, especially considering how difficult it was to find a decent service in the area.

But it was a good house. Full of good people.

* * *

“Miss Fisher.”

So polite. Mr. Butler couldn't see them, being just around the corner in his workroom, but he could almost hear the nod accompanying the Detective's greeting.

“I clearly recall telling you that you could call me Phryne.” Miss Fisher's voice was as light and teasing with him as with everyone else, and yet. It was different, too.

Mr. Butler would have known who she was talking with even if he couldn't hear the words, even if he could only hear her voice and not her companion's.

Not that he was listening.

But there wasn't really any way not to hear.

“So you did.” As aware as their Miss Fisher, as distinct, that same under-current of warmth.

“And yet, you do not.” The sound of a light footstep accompanied her voice, the slightest hint of a pout lingering between the words.

She'd stepped closer.

She always stepped closer.

The closest thing to predictable Miss Fisher ever managed.

“I do not.” No shifting weight audible with the Detective's words. He hadn't stepped back.

He never stepped back.

Mr. Butler felt a smile catch in the back of his throat, and he bent his head to focus on his task. Miss Fisher and the Detective Inspector's voices continued, low and teasing, back and forth, as brilliant and relentless as a tango, and only barely more appropriate for the sitting room.

Not that Miss Fisher cared a whit for propriety.

It didn't seem to worry the Detective Inspector as much as Mr. Butler had expected, either.

* * *

Mr. Butler knew they were both perfectly well aware he was in the room.

They never seemed to care who else was in the room, though he had noticed these late night conversations after dinner seemed easier than the ones that took place during the day, during the cases that so often drew them together.

“Are you ever going to take me up on my offer?” Miss Fisher's hand shifted with her words, the slightest clink of ice against the glass in her hand accompanying her voice.

"Which offer would that be, Miss Fisher?" The Detective Inspector didn't actually smile, but Mr. Butler could hear it in his voice, could almost see it in the lift of his eyebrows.

Her answering smile was, perhaps, even more wicked than usual. "All of them, of course."

“Well, if you're not going to be more specific, I don't think I can be either." The Detective Inspector leaned back in his chair, his own glass held loosely by widely spaced fingers, the base of it braced against his thigh.

Miss Fisher clicked her tongue, and sighed, dramatically enough her sleeves shifted with the movement of her shoulders. "How terribly disappointing."

She didn't sound particularly disappointed, her eyes bright and sharp, her smile fading not a bit.

"I'm afraid you will just have to learn to accept some slight disappointment, now and again."

Miss Fisher gasped. "Never!"

"Ah, should I apologize with some vague platitude, then? Anything is possible, Miss Fisher."

Miss Fisher put her glass down so she could lean forward, her voice dropping to something that wasn't quite a whisper. “Sometimes, if you’re very lucky, everything is possible.”

“Do you consider yourself lucky?” The Detective Inspector's voice had dropped as well, almost a rumble, his chin lifting as he spoke, mirroring Miss Fisher's movements.

“Extremely." Miss Fisher blinked, slowly enough Mr. Butler could almost feel the shift of her eyes, even though her attention wasn't aimed remotely in his direction. He wasn't quite sure how either of them managed to get anything done, sometimes, the way they could focus so intently on each other.

Her eyes opened again, shadows disappearing as her smile widened, almost soft for just a breath. "But more is always better.”

Mr. Butler slipped out the door, closing it behind him before he could quite hear the Detective Inspector's reply.

Whatever it was, it had been a good one, as Miss Fisher's bright laugh followed him down the hallway.

* * *

Miss Fisher stood unusually still, staring down at the two glasses sitting next to each other on the bar.

She'd pulled out two, as if expecting company.

No one was there.

No one was expected.

No one had been there the last few days.

The entire house had been unusually quiet, since the dust from the road rally had settled.

Mr. Butler had once claimed he wanted a nice quiet posting.

He knew he hadn't meant it, even then, but he disliked it even more than he'd expected.

At least he had some news that might change things.

"Dr. Macmillan is on the line for you."

Miss Fisher lifted her head, and smiled.

It was a small one, but he still counted it a victory.

"Thank you, Mr. Butler."

* * *

“Be careful what you wish for, Miss Fisher.” The Detective Inspector's voice was lower than usual, but it still carried.

“Wishes never accomplished anything." Miss Fisher said. "It’s actions that matter.”

“Your actions are what concern me.”

Mr. Butler felt himself smile as he closed his eyes. It was comfortingly familiar, the sound of the Detective Inspector's exasperation.

“Oh, I’m not planning any actions at all." Mr. Butler could hear the slide of her shoes against the floor, imagined he could even hear the _swish_ as her clothes swirled around her. "I’ve made my intentions perfectly clear. It’s not my move.”

"That is precisely the opposite of reassuring."

The Detective Inspector had refused to hand over his hat when he'd arrived this evening, but from the soft impact after his words, he'd finally put it down himself.

More exasperated than usual, perhaps.

Mr. Butler knew he was, for the first time, actively eavesdropping on his employer, but his chair was comfortable, and there was something compelling about the way their voices pushed at each other, back and forth, _melody and counterpoint,_ and he couldn't quite convince himself to move.

“Come along, Jack." Miss Fisher's voice turned sharp. She never did consider anyone else's worry as reasonable. "You worry too much.”

“Please, Miss Fisher.”

"You still refuse my invitation, don't you?" Her voice lifted with the question, and Mr. Butler found himself idly wondering what she was attempting to distract her Detective Inspector _from._

He could almost _hear_ the frown in response.

"I told you to call me Phryne. Why is that so difficult?"

"You never do anything I ask you to do." There was a hint of a sigh before he started speaking, but apparently the Detective Inspector was agreeing to be distracted, as his voice warmed with a hint of amusement as he spoke.

"That's completely different."

"Yes, because the things I _request,_ " a pointed pause, there, as everyone who had ever so briefly met Miss Fisher knew that no one told her to do anything, "are to keep people safe, or to allow me to do my job."

"It's a select group, you know." She ignored his point entirely, continuing with her own. "Just Mac, and Aunt Prudence."

"Perhaps I don't wish to be in a select group with your Aunt Prudence."

"No one wants to be in a select group with my Aunt Prudence." Mr. Butler swallowed the urge to laugh. "Mac is great company, though, and I dare you to deny it."

"I would never." The Detective Inspector's voice dropped again, so low Mr. Butler could barely hear it. "But maybe I don't wish to be in a select group with your _friend_ , either."

"Why not?" It could have been an affronted sort of question, _who wouldn't want to be associated with my friends?_ It could have been an innocent request for information.

It was clearly neither of those things.

"You know why." The Detective Inspector's voice wasn't very innocent either.

"Do I?" There was another soft sound, light footsteps, but for once Mr. Butler wasn't sure if she was stepping closer to her Detective, or farther away.

His answer didn't give anything away, his voice slow and steady. “I do not think I am up to playing this game of yours, today.”

“Here I thought it was your game." Miss Fisher clicked her tongue, but her voice was gentle rather than chiding or teasing. "My games are much more entertaining.”

“The world does not exist to be your entertainment.”

“Yet I am, usually, quite exceedingly entertained." The slightest _tink_ of glass on wood, the soft liquid sound of a tilting decanter.

Miss Fisher was pouring herself a drink.

"That speaks more to the quality of your character than the intent of the world around you."

There was a most delicate snort, and a pause as, Mr. Butler assumed, she passed a glass to the Detective Inspector. "I'm not sure if that was a compliment to my character, or an insult."

There was a clear clink as they tapped glasses, and another pause as they drank, before the Detective Inspector spoke again, his voice almost painfully dry. "It may be good for you to be lost for answers, now and again."

“Oh, I’m not lost, Jack. I’m simply admiring the scenery along the way.” Another soft whisper of movement, though Mr. Butler couldn't quite decipher any specifics from the hint of a sound.

“Are you enjoying the view, Miss Fisher?”

“It has potential, I must admit." Her voice eased into something approaching a purr, warm and decadent. "I think I would need a closer look to be quite sure.”

Mr. Butler slowly sat up, careful not to make any noise of his own.

He didn't think they'd notice, even if he did, but it seemed only polite not to interrupt. He slipped down the hallway, leaving them their privacy.

* * *

Their Miss Fisher never lacked for dance partners.

Mr. Butler imagined it was difficult, however, to find a good accompanist.

Her Detective might not dance, but he could sing.

Mrs. Butler would have been quite delighted by his voice, by the melodies he could play on the mostly neglected piano sitting by the window.

Would have enjoyed the way Detective Inspector Jack Robinson added to the music of this house.

Mr. Butler was glad to have found it.

Or been found, by the lady of said house. Miss Fisher was good at collecting precisely the people she needed.

Like her Detective Inspector.

Who might not dance like their Miss Fisher, but had no trouble keeping up with her, all the same.


End file.
